


Cloud Cover

by Antarc



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (mature tag for one(1) mention of sex), Chronic Illness, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, fatigue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26087833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antarc/pseuds/Antarc
Summary: Billy doesn’t hate Indiana as much as he used to- has instead simmered down to a constant dislike of Hawkins’ backwater everything, its crappy weather and lack of anything to do. He certainly never expected to find out when moving here how many variations ofrainthere can be. It’s not even like it never rained in California- just not this often.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	Cloud Cover

**Author's Note:**

> Another companion piece to [In Between](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26049151) and [I Picked Those Cherries Just For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25736545), set in the year after. You don't need to read them to enjoy this one, though.

Billy doesn’t hate Indiana as much as he used to- has instead simmered down to a constant dislike of Hawkins’ backwater everything, its crappy weather and lack of anything to do. He certainly never expected to find out when moving here how many variations of _rain_ there can be. It’s not even like it never rained in California- just not this often.

There’s the fact that grey skies for days don’t automatically mean it’s even gonna rain. He sits next to Steve at the edge of his parents’ heated pool, uncovered and filled despite the still chilly temperatures in April and looks upwards while they let their feet dangle in the water, arms wrapped around each other. From the open door to the living room, the distant sounds of an older Fleetwood Mac album filter through. The sky is blanketed in grey clouds, with not even a glimpse of blue in between. It’s weirdly peaceful.

He’s pretty much moved into Steve’s apartment, but once in a while they spend a sneaky weekend at his parents’ house while they’re away. Steve has assured him that they don’t know and don’t care. They never asked for his keys back when he moved out. And he’s got the habit of cleaning up after himself to not leave any traces behind so ingrained into him that Billy lets it go. Even if he does get a bit worried about one Saturday make-out session on the couch in front of the Harringtons’ TV being interrupted by Steve’s parents busting in on them. Steve assures him it’s not gonna happen. His parents hate Hawkins just as much as Billy does.

And anyways, who is he to complain about a night or two in Steve’s old bed? Billy gets to tease him about the atrocious checkered wallpaper and curtain combo and then they get to rut against each other until they’re a mess of sweaty limbs and sticky bellies and satisfied sighs. It’s almost like a mini vacation, getting to listen to his handful of vinyls that survived his dad on a proper stereo system with high-end speakers. Having breakfast in a huge, bright kitchen, listening to Steve hum along to the radio while he makes them bacon and eggs.

Billy thinks about dragging Steve into the pool with him or maybe going back inside to the music. Wants to exchange the album for something they can dance to, wants to hold Steve close and pretend they’re at someone’s party and no one cares that they’re two guys dancing together. But the water also calls to him. He’s just started to feel more human again, less shaky limbs, less skin and bones. But his body still betrays him. He gets so easily tired, sometimes from doing nothing but living a normal half day before he suddenly runs out of steam. He gets cold more easily, gets a couple hours for housework or exercise or just talking with Steve and Max and then suddenly he’s done for the day and has to lie down again. 

He doesn’t want to waste the rest of his energy on dragging Steve into the pool, no matter how much he wants to swim. He also doesn’t want to get caught in a rain shower.

“Shouldn’t we go inside?” he finally asks Steve, whose arm has been around Billy’s shoulder, with Billy’s hand on his hip this entire time. They’ve slowly been sipping on beer, Billy’s first after months of no alcohol. Smoking is still out of the question and Steve had valiantly chucked out his own packet of Marlboros to avoid the temptation. His fingers play with the hair at the back of Billy’s neck, growing back soft and curly. 

“Nah,” he smiles at Billy, tugs him even closer. Makes his heart beat a little faster. “The clouds aren’t dark enough for rain.”

They stay outside a while longer and get rewarded with sunbeams slipping through increasingly large holes in the cloud cover, before Steve declares that they need to put some proper food into Billy and drags him back inside.

***

There’s a small field at the back of their apartment building where some of their neighbors’ kids like to kick a ball around on sunny days. Right at the edge of the property is a massive tree. Its crown, unhindered by the lack of surrounding plants, spreads wide across the lawn. The tree probably predates the entire building. It’s so large that there’s birds flying in and out of its foliage on multiple spots, like it’s its own natural apartment building to a bunch of bird families.

Billy watches it from the bedroom window on his bad days, when the rain comes down in a punishing, endless rhythm that beats against the window and his still red scars ache too much for him to move for more than excruciatingly slow treks to the bathroom. The rain comes down like a waterfall on those days, like a never ending curtain that obscures the vision and distorts reality. 

When Steve comes home from his shift at Family Video, even the short trip from the parking lot to their apartment has him soaked through. Billy hears him curse and grumble when he opens the door, before he shouts a much friendlier “I’m home!” into the apartment. His head, dripping wet, peeks into their bedroom a moment later and despite the exhaustion and pain Billy feels, the goofy look still makes him smile.

“Hey handsome.” Steve’s already divested himself of his jacket and boots, but even his shirt and jeans have been soaked. 

“Welcome back,” Billy mutters. He watches in rapt interest as Steve wriggles his hips to get out of the clinging wet denim, as he turns and takes his shirt off, nipples hard from the cold air. He smirks at Billy, when he notices his stare. Makes a point of taking a towel from the dresser and bending over while he towels off his hair. Slips out of his underwear and into a fresh pair and comes closer to Billy, goosebumps visible on his arms. He leans down, takes one of Billy’s hands into both of his and plants a soft, short kiss at the corner of Billy’s mouth. Gives him another, when Billy turns his head into it. His hands are still warm, even now.

Steve leans back a little and studies his face. “Do you want me to turn on the radio?” Billy shrugs, then nods. There’s not much interesting music on the stations their radio picks up, but the background noise is still better than the silence. And if he’s lucky, he’ll get to listen to Steve sing along while he cooks, even if it’s to a godawful country song. Steve gets back to getting dressed, puts on this incredibly soft, grey sweater his grandma had sent him when she found out he’d moved out of his parents’ home. He’s made Billy wear it a bunch of times, had practically bullied him into wearing it throughout the last winter. He likes to call it ‘their’ sweater. Because it’s the first item of clothing he got, after he and Billy moved into the apartment.

The ongoing rushing of rainwater is now interspersed with the muted sounds of their apartment coming to life. Steve has left the bedroom door open and turns on the radio in the kitchen, while he starts in on dinner preparations. Billy vaguely recalls him mentioning stew, wishes he could get up and help. Or at least sit at the kitchen table and watch Steve’s hands as he cuts vegetables and meat. He lets the noises lull him into a doze and only briefly wakes when Steve comes into the bedroom to quickly slip two hot water bottles under the blanket with him.

***

There’s also those rainy nights that come disguised as mist, when the rain is so fine and thin that you can walk to the grocery store and back and only notice how tiny droplets have seeped into your hair, into your clothes and onto your skin when it’s already too late. When there’s rivulets of water running down your cheeks and your clothes have become damp and cold against your skin. Every breath Billy takes as he walks next to Steve feels like he’s inhaling a bit of the mist as well. 

Hawkins smells damp, like rotten foliage and cold dirt. Their apartment building is on the outskirts of town and the final stretch of their grocery bag-laden walk is on a path parallel to the road, flanked by trees that give you only a glimpse of asphalt on one side and dark, misty forest on the other.

He doesn’t notice it at first, the way Steve has grown silent. But they’re almost home and the annoyance about his ruined hairstyle and the promise of dry clothes are at the forefront of Billy’s mind until he turns and sees how pale Steve’s face has gotten. A moment later, Steve stops walking entirely and stands stock still, eyes glassy, body turned towards the forest.

“What’s going on?” Steve doesn’t reply. The car is at the mechanic and Billy insisted that he couldn’t just let Steve carry their groceries all on his own- so now both of them have their hands full with bags. He regrets his lack of free hands now, when he gets the strong impression that Steve is about to bolt. Instead of dropping a bag, he interlinks his right arm with Steve’s left. Roughly tugs him into Billy’s side, until his head whips around to look at his face instead of the mist-filled space in between the trees.

Steve’s eyes are wide. Whatever he thinks he has seen in the mist (and Billy has a pretty good idea what Steve’s mind has come up with), he’s thoroughly spooked. 

The thing that Billy has learned about Steve is that even when he’s scared out of his mind, his fight or flight instincts naturally point him towards _fight_. See a monster, real or imagined, in the woods? Run towards it and fight it. He can’t let that happen.

It’s Billy’s job to drag Steve out of that mindset, to drag him the rest of the way to their apartment, even if it feels like he’s half-carrying an unmoving mannequin. He takes the grocery bags from Steve’s stiff fingers and makes him sit at the kitchen table, face still eerily empty and still. He wraps the big, baby blue fleece blanket they got from Joyce around Steve’s shoulders, so he can warm up while Billy puts their groceries away. He drags Steve’s subtly shivering form into their bedroom and strips him, pulls out the hoodie he used to hide his body in for months and wraps Steve into it. The fabric is well-worn and soft and the closest thing Billy has to telling Steve “you can hide here, with me” without saying it out loud.

He watches, as the color slowly returns to Steve’s cheeks. They sit on the couch, hot chocolate Billy whipped up for them warming their hands and Billy can’t tear his eyes off of him. Wants to keep Steve in his sight, in his clothes. Watches Steve finish his hot chocolate and crawl onto Billy’s lap and welcomes warm, sweet kisses that taste like chocolate and home.


End file.
